Moments of Hotch
by phirephox666
Summary: "There are moments in your life that make you, that decide who you're going to be. Sometimes they are small, subtle moments. Sometimes they're not." Moments in the life of Aaron Hotchner from childhood to current day. WIP.
1. Not All There Is

**Title: **Moments of Hotch: Not All There Is

**Author: **PhirePhox666

**Fandom: **Criminal Minds

**Chapter: **1 of 28(ish)

**Pairing/Characters: **Aaron Hotchner, Dave Rossi, Jeniffer Jereau, Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, and Penelope Garcia. Hints of Hotch/Rossi.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Warnings:** Hints of slashiness. Mentions of Het. Mentions of the killing of children. Mentions of death and suicide. Fluffy, cuteness. Ooc-ness.

**Summary:** Hotch's reaction to pure exhaustion, physical and mental, is a surprise to all of them. Because a sleepy Hotch is an adorable Hotch. Hotch-centric.

**Disclaimer: **Ah, yes, I am ze owner of Criminal Minds. In my dreams, that is. Nope, don't own, to my great chagrin.

**Word Count:** 1,671

**Dedication: **For Aslan.

**Prompt: **None

**Excerpt:** None

**A/N: **This is going to be a series of randomly updated Criminal Minds oneshots that relate to eachother and are in no particular order. There is a PLOT and stuff though. As the title implies they'll all be very Hotch-centric because I adore Hotch. Some will be very obviously slash, although you can probably get through most of them without noticing, many'll just be friendship. Have fun, y'all. Reviews and Flames are Welcome. Hope you enjoy.

Not All There Is

_"Everything in this world exists to wear you down."_

By the time they catch the unsub who has killed ten kids in the last ten days, Hotch has been up more than four days with only a couple hour nap on the couch that had been pushed in the corner of their borrowed space during that time. He'd sent each of them home at a decent time each night while staying behind and working the case. When they finally catch the unsub it's barely in time to save the eleventh victim while the unsub commits suicide by cop. They say their thanks, accept the local gratitude, and pack up in record time and by the time that they're getting in the SUV for the ride to the airstrip, a thirty-five minute drive away, the adrenaline has worn off and Hotch is fading fast.

It's the first time any of his team except Rossi has seen him do this and his reaction to shear exhaustion, both physical and mental, surprises them all. Because an exhausted Hotch is a sleepy, child-like, without his normal shields Hotch and it's adorable beyond words.

"Come on, Aaron. Time to go." The team, gathered by the SUV, is surprised to hear Rossi who, in contrast to normal Rossi-ness, is speaking in a low, coaxing tone to their team leader. They turn almost as one entity, looking to where the voice emanated and are greeted by a Hotch who is not in his usual suit and tie but instead in a pair of loose, comfortable-looking jeans and a warm sweater. He is holding a folded blanket tight to his chest and looking blearily around. Rossi has a guiding hand on the small of his back and is looking fondly at him, a half-smile curling at the edges of his mouth, both or their go bags slung across his back, awkwardly.

J.J. is calling Garcia almost before the thought that Garcia might want to witness this, occurs to her. "What can I do for you, oh, mother of my favorite godson?" Garcia answers as Hotch stumbles slightly on the curb and Rossi steadies him with a gentle touch to his arm with the hand not still at the small of Hotch's back. J.J. suppresses the inappropriate urge to squeal at the adorableness of it all even as she answers Garcia.

"Have you ever seen Hotch coming of adrenaline and completely exhausted" She asks, curious to know if Garcia has heard or seen anything because the easy familiarity with this in Rossi shows that this is not the first time this has happened.

"Nope." Penelope responds, popping the 'p' and, on the other side of the line, tilting her head a little, "Why?"

J.J. looks up again watching for a moment at the scene of the two men making their over to the SUV, Hotch's face turned towards Rossi, obviously listening to the elder man speak, although it's too quiet for the rest of them to make out. Her eyes slide over to her friends and teammates. Emily meets her gaze and smiles a little, Spencer looks at the two most senior members of the BAU, fascinated by some part of the display, and Derek looks quietly pleased in a way she's never seen him look before.

"I think you might want to experience it, even if it by phone." She finally responds. Garcia makes a little sound of acquiescence and doesn't question her. J.J. puts the phone on speaker phone as Rossi and Hotch finally come to stand next to the rest of the team, and Garcia's phone-proxy.

Rossi sends them all a glare even as he speaks to Hotch. "Give me the keys Aaron. You're in no condition to be driving us anywhere and I'd rather not end up making friends with a tree because you wouldn't give up the keys." For a moment it's like he hasn't heard the elder profiler, then, slowly, he digs in the pocket of his jeans, finally producing the key to the SUV.

"Good. Stay here." Rossi commands, sending another glare at the team and beeping the car unlocked. Even as they efficiently load their go bags in the back they're trading smiles and quiet giggles even when Rossi glares again as he loads his and Hotch's bags. Reid and Morgan are arguing on who has to get in first when Rossi quietly speaks again, "Come on, Aaron, get in. All of them quiet down and try to be subtle as they listen in. They fail miserably.

"Don't want to." Hotch says sounding faintly confused, stubborn and tired. J.J.'s not sure but she thinks Rossi rolls his eyes, even as he opens the door and gently pushes Hotch towards the passenger seat.

"In." He commands. "Or have you forgotten what happened last time you stayed up this long and then refused to get any sleep." It's not really a question, and there is a hard note to Rossi's voice that, even in his semi-asleep state, Hotch doesn't miss.

"'Kay," he finally agrees, after a long moment of thought. Rossi smirks a little and helps Hotch in to the vehicle with an ease of experience. A giggle comes from J.J.'s right hand and she realizes that she's already forgotten the techie.

"That's adorable." Penelope whispers and J.J. smiles.

"Yeah," She agrees and nothing more is said between them. Spencer and Derek end up in the way back, Emily and J.J. in the middle and Rossi is driving. Hotch has already been settled in the passenger seat after much fussing from Rossi and an adorable scene in which he'd taken the blanket from Hotch and carefully tucked the younger man in.

The first five minutes of the drive are relatively quiet and subdued before Hotch makes a quiet sound as he shifts towards Rossi. J.J. is sitting behind the driver's seat and in a prime position to watch Hotch. The emotions play clearly across his unguarded face, for once there are no shields there and it makes him look younger, especially with his dark, serious eyes closed.

"Dave," The profiler says it softly, but in the near silence of the SUV it's heard by everybody.

"Yes, Aaron." Rossi says and there is amusement in his voice although J.J. doesn't understand why.

"What's that thing, the urn thing? Something writing-ish..." He asks vaguely, eyes still closed as he curls towards the sound of Rossi's voice.

Behind her, J.J. hears Spencer murmur, "The urn thing?" bafflement clear in his voice at his boss' unclear description. 'Something writing-ish' is what gets her and she giggle softly in to her sleeve.

Rossi responds, still sounding amused. "'Ode On A Grecian Urn' by John Keats." And he says it so simply, like this is the obvious answer, that J.J. just stares at the back of his chair for a moment while Spencer makes a noise of disbelief behind her and Emily frowns. Derek laughs quietly and in front Hotch starts speaking again.

"Yes. That one. All poetry-ish he was." There's a pause and then: "Do you think Strauss would like an urn for her birthday?"

J.J. stifles the sudden laughter in to her sleeve and hears Morgan doing the same in back. Reid makes a choking noise and beside her, Emily is bent over with silent laughter.

"I don't think so, Aaron. Strauss doesn't seem like the urn type." Comes Rossi's response, still amused, but somehow calm.

"Hmmm." Hotch's response is tinged with sleepy contemplation and for a moment J.J. thinks he's going to go to sleep. Instead he quotes, "'And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun, /And she forgot the blue above the trees, /And she forgot the dells where waters run, /And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze,'"

"'Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!'" Rossi quotes back then laughs softly, "Not about urns at all. And no, I don't think she'd like a pot of basil either, Aaron. Do you even know when Strauss' birthday is?"

J.J. wonders to herself if this is to get Hotch off of poetry for a little. "Mm." Hotch responds, "June 17th. She shouldn't leave passwords out where anybody can see them."

Rossi laughs again and signals their turn. "No, I suppose not." He says and then parks the car ending that discussion.

They unload quickly; Morgan taking Rossi and Hotch's go bags as Rossi gently assists Hotch from the car. J.J. loses track of them for a while as she ends the call with Garcia, only a small amount of squealing involved. When she finally makes it on to the jet and to where the team has settled itself she's greeted by Hotch's half-asleep, "J.J.!"

Before she can respond Rossi intervenes. "Sleep, Aaron. You need to sleep." Reluctantly her boss relaxes back in to his seat next to Dave. J.J. settles herself and then quietly observes her two friends.

Rossi is speaking softly to Hotch and Hotch looks sleepily serious. He shifts, pulling his blanket around him as he carefully leans in to Rossi, looking as if he expects to be pushed away. The expression is so open, so raw, she almost looks away from it. Rossi carefully wraps his arm around Hotch, pulling him closer. Finally Hotch relaxes, curling against Rossi until his head rests in the crook of Rossi's neck and his whole body is pressed somewhat against the elder man.

Rossi pulls the blanket more securely around Hotch before softly stroking Aaron's hair. There is an expression of such open tenderness, fondness and love on Dave's face at that it frightens her, and causes an ache in her heart. She wonders if Aaron knows that expression. Aaron shifts and sighs against Dave's collarbone, slipping in to the blackness of sleep quickly. Not long after Dave follows him, finally relaxing himself.

For a moment she contemplates them, feeling a great affection for them and for each of her other friends, then a gratefulness for Will and Henry. Quietly J.J. closes her eyes and, with thoughts of Will and Henry dominating her thoughts, follows them in to sleep.

_"The world is filled with darkness and pain and yet, that is not all there is."_

_Finis. _


	2. Friendship and Conversation

**Title: **Moments of Hotch: Friendship and Conversation

**Author: **PhirePhox666

**Fandom: **Criminal Minds

**Chapter: **2 of 38 (ish)

**Pairing/Characters: **Hotch and Reid-centric, some so-light-as-to-be-nearly-nonexistant slash of the Hotch/Rossi type, Jennifer Jereau, Emily Prentiss, and Derek Morgon in a small dose.

**Rating: **K

**Warnings: **Hints of Slash, A little bit of rambling. Some ideas that might be offensive to jocks. Er, not much this time.

**Summary: **Most of the time Reid likes riding with Hotch most of anyone. Hotch lets him ramble on, sometimes for hours at a time.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Criminal Minds_, rock and pop music, facts about food processing, window boxes, miniature roses, SUVs, or the to-be-mentioned, stupid-ass sign.

**Word Count: **1,849

**Dedication: **For Aslan.

**Prompt:** None

**Excerpt:** None

**A/N:** First things first; no offense is meant to jocks. These are not my personal opinions, but something I thought Reid would probably think due to his unfortunate experiences with jocks in high school. Apologies to anyone who takes offense, it is not meant. The sign mentioned is really something I saw a picture of. This is not really how I thought this was going to come out when I started it, but I hope it's good anyway. Apologies for the slightly mournful ending. This is set before _Not All There Is_ in this timeline and a little after Hotch got out of the hospital in canon. A big thanks to my reviewers; _spk, THn0715, _and _rickhotch31._ Reviews and Flames are Very Welcome. Hope you enjoy.

Part Two:

Friendship and Conversation

_"I know what things are good: friendship and work and conversation." -Rupert Brooke_

Most of the time Spencer Reid enjoys riding with Hotch the most out of any of the team. Hotch will let him ramble on, sometimes for hours, about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes Hotch even offers his own opinions and something he says will spark a conversation or debate that can last hours.

Once they debated the merits of rock music versus pop music for three counties straight. That was one of Reid's favorite memories including his boss, and the first time he'd ever directly made Hotch smile. There was something right with the world when Hotch smiled, Reid thought, since a smile from his serious boss was so very rare.

There are times when Hotch brings him books, usually thick, old and hard backed, and these are times where Reid knows that he should be silent, that Hotch needs it to be quiet. Reid complies, appreciating the fact that Hotch brings something to occupy his mind during these times.

Now is not one of those times. Now they are driving back across two counties, the only two in the SUV as Reid spouts facts about food processing, the problems with trying to grow miniature roses in window boxes and how the percentage of jocks versus the stereotyped "nerd" was disproportionate and therefore the "nerd" should technically be considered the normal teenager.

"Besides," Reid explained, "The 'jock' is often times given a sense of power and superiority due to their position. It leads to numerous accounts of bullying." The younger man paused to look at his companion awkwardly, "Er, no offense meant, sir."

"No offense taken, Reid." The elder said, a strange look passing over his face. Reid could have smacked himself. He'd been trying to keep things light and comfortable. Hotch had more than enough stress in his life with Foyet out there, Haley and Jack in danger, and that strange strain on his and Rossi's friendship. Now Reid had gone and said something to make things awkward. And he really didn't know how to fix it, as horrible at social delicacies as he is.

Hotch's voice breaks the silence, an almost defensive not to his voice. "I wasn't a jock in high school, Spencer."

Reid's not sure what about the statement shocks him more, the nature of the statement, the declaration itself or the use of his first name. He flicks his eyes sideways unconsciously profiling the way Hotch looks straight ahead, no emotion showing on his face. Reid would think the revelation didn't mean anything to Hotch if not for the way Hotch's knuckles are turning white on the steering wheel.

"I always assumed you were, sir." Reid confesses, trying to be honest in the face of such a shocking confession. It occurs to him that this is the first truly private thing Hotch has ever told him. Sure Reid had inferred a lot about his boss, you couldn't really turn the profiler off no matter what the team rule was, but that really wasn't the same

Next to him Hotch relaxes, his hands unclenching a bit. "Most do." He responds.

"It's the absolute confidence in yourself that does it." Reid says a bit dryly and more candidly than he might usually be with his boss. Somehow he feels it will be more appreciated in this situation.

He's rewarded with a smile playing at the edges of Hotch's lips and a wry. "Yes, that might have something to do with it."

Reid laughs, feeling triumphant. Smiles, however small, are a rare thing nowadays and being the cause of one is always a reward in itself.

They are quiet for a time, Reid content to sit and enjoy the comfortable silence as random things spark through his brain faster than most people could understand, nothing really catching his full attention until they pass a road sign that sparks a outpouring of facts on road signs and thoughts on the redundant and just plain stupid road signs that Reid has seen or read about before.

"I once saw a picture of a sign that merely said 'Caution. The edges of this sign are sharp.' There were no other signs in the area. I never understood the purpose of that sign." He says absently to Hotch.

Hotch is almost smiling again as he adds his own comment. "I wonder who even makes a sign like that. What company produces signs that comment on their own structure? And who decides where a sign like that goes?" He asks.

"I don't know!" Reid says excitedly, his mind rapidly constructing ideas as he goes off on to a long ramble about the subject. Hotch is smiling ever so slightly now and Reid once again feels that small spark of triumph warm him through. The subject keeps Reid's interest for quite a while and Hotch listens throughout, sometimes interjecting his own thoughts that will occasionally spark something in Reid's complicated brain. By the time they make it back to Quantico Reid has exhausted the subject and moved through four different tangents and in to a completely different subject.

Hotch seems to have been content to listen throughout the entire drive. Hotch is the only on who ever really listens all the way through. He's a good friend that way, truly interested in what Reid has to say, except when he needs the younger profiler to focus on a certain thing, like during a case.

Reid cuts himself off when they drive in to the parking lot, quickly spotting the SUV that Rossi, J.J., Prentiss, and Morgan had taken back.

It's cool but not freezing when they get out, Hotch automatically handing him the jacket he'd tossed in the backseat when they'd started the drive. Reid shrugs himself in to it, wrapping the scarf he'd brought around his neck. Brisk, his mind supplies in its description of the night as he does all this. He slings his messenger bag across his chest.

Hotch walks to where Reid is still standing by the passenger side door, opening the door to the backseat and silently handing Reid his go bag before getting his own. He closes the door, turning to meet Reid's eyes and there is something in the moment, something about the protective care that Hotch consistently in his actions towards Reid, that makes him ask, almost wistfully, "Are we friends, Hotch?"

A moment later he wishes that he'd not opened his mouth because Hotch is his boss before anything else and that's really not something you ask your boss, however much you wished to be his friend. Hotch's eyes widen a little, the only sign of his surprise at the question, and for a moment Reid's mind is just blank with panic.

Then something in Hotch's face soften, and he smiles, slow and genuinely pleased and wider than Reid's seen him since he came back to the BAU. It makes him look ten years younger and much less serious. "I would like to think we are, Spencer." Is the response Reid gets, and it is really not the one he had thought he would be getting. His surprise in getting it makes it no less pleasing to hear because although he didn't expect it, he had hoped for such an answer.

"Thank you." The smile on his own face is just as genuine. He ducks his head a little in embarrassment, "Sorry to spring that on you. I don't know what came over me."

A small laugh from his companion. "No need for apologies. I understand."

For a moment neither of them speaks. "Hotch," Reid starts, then hesitates before forging on before he can lose his nerve, "If you ever need to talk-" He leaves the offer open, but the implication is clear.

Hotch nods his head seriously, acknowledging the offer. "It goes both ways, Reid." Hotch's voice is grave, but his eyes are warm and surprisingly open. There's a soft touch on Reid's arm, an expression of gratitude made all the more meaningful by the fact that Hotch is not an extremely tactile person.

Reid smiles, light and pleased. Without any spoken signal they both gather their go bags and turn to go inside. Hotch pushes the automatic lock button and the car responds with a click and a beep. Reid shivers a bit, just realizing how chilled he's become. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Hotch also shiver, and then adjust his coat a little.

They make it inside and to the bullpen with no incident. Everyone is already back as Reid had surmised when they'd driven in. Prentiss looks up when they enter and greets them both. Reid is quickly pulled away by the others of the team as Morgan begins ribbing him good naturedly and Prentiss laughs at them both.

Out of the corner of his eye, Reid sees the smallest flash of a smile across his boss' face before the elder profiler steps away towards his office, no doubt to begin the multitude of paperwork that being the boss of everyone incurs. Hotch only makes it a couple of steps before Rossi comes out of his own office, drawn by the sudden uproar of noise. The first thing that catches his attention is those causing the noise, eyes falling on Reid, Prentiss and Morgan. A fond expression passes over his face, one that makes Reid smile.

There's a moment, and Reid only notices because he's looking directly at Hotch when it happens but it is _there_, when the expression on Hotch's face as he looks at Rossi is so open and raw and pained it's like all the shields and walls that Hotch has up have been ripped down by the sight of the man. Then Hotch's face closes, expression going totally blank as Rossi looks over at him. Reid feels as if he's been punched in the gut, realization flashing like electricity through him.

Oh. _Oh._

Well then. That did explain some things then.

Hotch, back in control and closed off, walks to his office, brushing past Rossi with no more than a murmured "excuse me." He's seemingly oblivious to the open expression of frustration that follows him. After a moment Rossi shakes his head and retreats in to his own office.

Reid lets himself be drawn back in to the loud familiarity between him and his teammates, letting the memory of that frighteningly open gaze fade for the moment. The intensity in even the memory makes him shiver even as he lets it slip away in to the corners of his mind.

He'll figure out what he's going to do to help later. Hotch knows where to find him if he needs a friend. For now, he has paperwork to attend to.

_"Love doesn't make things nice. It breaks your heart. It makes a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and die."_

_Finis. _


	3. Haven in a Heartless World

**Title: **Moments of Hotch: Haven in a Heartless World

**Author: **PhirePhox666

**Fandom: **Criminal Minds

**Chapter: **3 of 28(ish)

**Pairing/Characters: **Aaron Hotchner. An OC. Haley Brooke. Jack. The team in general.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Warnings:** Very vague implications of abuse, neglect, and death. Like almost nonexisitantly vague. Mentions of Het and _maybe_ Slash.

**Summary: **Family isn't always blood and home isn't always the house you live in. Family is the people who care about you and home is the place you feel safe in.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Criminal Minds, it's characters, the quotes, Media and Culture, or sweater-vests.

**Word Count: **2,021

**Dedication: **For Aslan.

**Prompt:** None.

**Excerpt:** None.

**A/N:** Hey! Firstly, apologies for the OC. He'll show up later too, so sorry, but I need another person from Hotch's past who isn't Haley. He shall be explained at a later date. Promise. The first bit of this is way before the show, the second bit is after Haley dies and before the first chapter. Much thanks to my reviewer _tiecollector. _Reviews and Flames are Very Appreciated. Hope you enjoy.

Part Three:

Haven in a Heartless World

_"The family is a haven in a heartless world."_

His first year in college Aaron takes a class called Media and Culture, solely based on the fact that his best friend is taking and it sounds mildly interesting. It is nothing like Aaron expected, of course, although he's not really sure what he expected. Somehow it just isn't what he got. Sergi loves it of course.

"Media," Says Professor Anderson at precisely 9:05 that first Tuesday morning, dressed in a striped sweater vest, "and Culture. The relationship between the two is one of the most influential to the populace in our time. Media affects us, changes the way we perceive things. Newspapers, television, magazines, radio, internet. Every one of those effects the way we think, the way we feel, the way we look at things around us. And _you _are here to learn how and why."

Sergi was fascinated by the course and even Aaron had to admit to being interested when Sergi questions him on it later. The next lecture is a little different.

"Culture," Professor Anderson states just as promptly on Friday, "Ours is different from anyone else's. We are not alone in this. Every country out there has a different culture, different social standards. Take personal space. American standards for personal space are different from French standards for personal space. American's are very fond of their personal space. Also, think greeting people. The difference between greeting someone you have just met or someone you've know your entire life. All these are part of our culture."

The professor spins towards his chalk board. His sweater vest is brown. He writes 'FAMILY' in big, block letters on his chalk board, underlines it twice and spins again, this time facing his class.

"Family." He tells them, "Home. The definition for either is different for everyone. What makes a family?"

Someone raises their hand and he calls on them. "Mom, dad, kids."

"Yes, yes. The easiest answer, the _standard_ answer." Professor Anderson says, gesticulating a bit. Another person raises their hand.

"Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings."

"Again, standard answer. Think, _what_ makes a whole family?" His gestures are wider, encompassing none of them seem to be grasping. The idea niggles in the back of Aaron's brain and on a bit of a whim he raises his own hand and when called on he offers his own opinion.

"Friends, the people who... care about you." He hesitates to say the word love, even as he glances out of the corner of his eye at Sergi. Sergi smiles back at him, affection clear in his gaze.

"Bingo! Family is not only blood, kiddies! Friends, people who care about you. Blood-relations, sure, but there are people out there who's entire family is made of those who aren't blood relations. So, one page essay on what your family and your home is to _you_. Due Tuesday. Get out."

They get out. Sergi is smiling happily at Aaron all the way.

"Ha! See, Aleksei, you should answer more often. You are _insightful!_" Sergi says to Aaron, addressing his friend in Russian. Aaron responds in the same language.

"I respond when I feel the need to, Sergi."

"Aleksei is _shy_." Sergi teases. Aaron just stares at him blank-faced and Sergi sighs. "You were funner to tease when you blushed all the time." The Russian boy mourned.

"I am sure you'll live, Sergi." Aaron says with a hint of a smile to the tilt of his lips. Sergi laughs happily bouncing onward like an overgrown puppy.

_My Family is a difficult thing to quantify. They say blood is thicker than water, but I've found that it really does not work that way. I suppose the easiest place to start is with my family by blood. I am a born and bred southern gentleman trained up by my mother on how to act in 'polite society.' There are far worse mothers out there. There are also far better. There are times when I do not think that my mother has ever actually looked beyond what she expects of me to look at the 'me' behind the expectations. I find I care little for what she expects of me now. _

_My relationship with my brother, Sean, is harder to define. I love him dearly, for he is my brother and dear to me for that. Yet, in some ways I resent him because he is my parents' favorite, and he has never seemed to grasp the full power of that position. He has no knowledge of some of the skeletons in my family's closet. I envy Sean that ignorance, and at the same time pity him for it. Our relationship has been strained since I left for college. He does not understand why I did not go where my parents wanted me to, why I left and moved far away from them. He thinks me selfish, and perhaps I am. _

_The less said about my father, the better. He is no family of mine, not by more than blood relation links us. _

_My true family, the ones who care for me and support me, is made of two very special individuals. The first is my friend/sometimes-girlfriend, Haley Brooks. She has been my friend throughout high school and supported me quite a bit. I know that one day we are going to get married, but I am content to wait for a while, as she wishes to. She is very kind and compassionate and often times I think she'd make a good psychiatrist or something. She'd kill me if I told her that. _

_The second of these individuals is Sergi Bolshevik. Sergi is my best friend and has been since I met him in middle school. Sergi calls me Aleksei which means 'protector of man' because he says I have the strongest protective streak he's ever seen. He's stuck by me through thick and thin. Sergi gets me in a way no one else does and he is so loyal it's almost frightening. He taught me Russian when I asked, and tutored me when I needed it. We're as close as if we were blood related, as brothers should be, closer than me and Sean have been in a long time. _

_Home. People say home is where the heart is. If that is the case my home is definitely not the house I grew up in. That house has no heart; it is a presentation of everything that makes a good rich southern family's house. A home is nothing like that place. A home is some place to feel safe, to feel comfortable, and to feel as if you are able, allowed, to be yourself. Back when I still lived with my parents my home would have been Sergi's house. It is the only place I felt safe at. Now my home is the apartment I share with Sergi. Out apartment has heart, it has personality. It is a real home, warm and full of things that the both of us actually enjoy. That is a home, unlike the sterile, fake thing I left behind._

_A family and a home, two things I've found in completely not normal, not standard places. Maybe some people would disagree that these are people, friends who are not blood relations, are family, but they are a damn sight better at being my family than my blood family my "real" family, ever was. _

He almost scraps the entire essay, almost throws it in to the trash and turns in something else. It is too open, too raw, to full of truths and feelings he's never truly voiced to anyone, let alone a teacher whos class he'd only been to twice. In the end he turns it in, knowing that nothing else will be completely true in the way this is. Maybe it's too true, but anything else would be too false, so he turns the damn thing in and pretends not to stress over it.

He gets an A+ on the paper and when he finally lets Sergi read it his best friend cries like a child.

He hadn't even known he'd kept a copy of it. The old essay is wrinkled and splotched and sentences have been rendered completely illegible by time and wear. Hotch doesn't have an eidetic memory like Reid, but even after the better part of twenty years some phrases still echo in his ears as he skims the page.

_I envy Sean that ignorance, and at the same time pity him for it. _It had been true for many years, Sean knew so little of the family secrets, and Hotch had envied that at the same time as he had pitied his brother his lack of knowledge. For although Sean was maybe happier without it he was effectively living a half-truth.

_The less said about my father, the better. _Still true, he thinks, closing his eyes in silent contemplation. It's been years since he's talked of his father and he's not about to start. Ever.

_The second of these individuals is Sergi Bolshevik. _The rest of that passage has faded, worn away, but Hotch can remember it like he'd written it yesterday. There is the pain of an old wound there, healed and faded but still sore, always sore. An ache he'd learned to put aside, to ignore, but never forget.

For a long time "home" wherever he was had been Sergi and Haley. The only safeness in a world that had been perpetually dangerous and frightening. Eventually both of them had left him, despite their numerous promises not to, and to think of either of them was heartbreaking. Hotch sighed softly and tucked the old essay back in to its folder, moving on to find what he'd actually been looking for.

He is still thinking of it the next morning as he watches his team trickle in to the bullpen in ones and twos. Something in his chest, the cold, hard thing that had lodged itself next to his heart last night when he had thought about years gone past and the two people who had sworn never to leave him, leaving him so easily, seems to melt away with surprising ease.

First comes Garcia, early as always, and although her workspace is not in the bullpen with everyone else, she'll linger there to greet the others as they come in. Rossi is next, still a little on the early side, but only just. J.J. arrives perfectly on time, then lingers to talk to Garcia and Rossi. Reid and Prentiss come in together, obviously having met up in the parking lot, or in the elevator, and talking together quietly before they spot the others and join them. Last is Morgan who is late, but not enough for it to be worrisome. He grins easily at the congregation of his coworkers and friends, joining them immediately.

Hotch watches and his chest fills with warmth, warmth that spreads through him and out in to his limbs, chasing the old pain and buried memories away.

_Family, _he remembers saying, so many years ago, _are the people who care about you. Home is the place you feel safe, the place you feel cared for._

This is his family; _these people_ are his family, his home, his sanctuary. These people, who he wouldn't have ever expected to have twenty years ago. He has his son, Jack, and his team, and even J.J.'s son and husband. They are his family. And maybe some of them have secrets in their pasts. Maybe they're all a little bit broken. The cracked and jagged edges just make it easier to fit them together.

Rossi turns, quietly and subtly seeking him out and finding him lurking by his office. There is happiness in Rossi's eyes and he beckons Hotch forward, real affection on his face. For a moment Hotch stands, apart but still basking in the glow of his family's warmth. Then he steps forward and they draw him in, surrounding him on all sides with warmth and safety.

This is his family now and he couldn't, not even if he'd tried to, have imagined a better one.

_"It is not flesh and blood but the heart that makes us fathers and sons. It is not flesh and blood but the heart that makes us family."_

_Finis. _


	4. A Base of Friendship

**Title: **Moments of Hotch: A Base of Friendship

**Author: **PhirePhox666

**Fandom: **Criminal Minds

**Pairing/Characters: **Hotch/Rossi, minor mentions of Gideon and an OC

**Rating: **PG-13

**Warnings:** Mentions of murderers and murdering, profilers, slash and minor mentions of het, talk of child abuse.

**Summary: **Rossi's never wanted a protégé, not like Gideon, not until he met Aaron Hotchner.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Criminal Minds, it's characters, coffee shops, or the quotes.

**Word Count: **3,291

**Dedication: **For Aslan.

**Prompt:** None.

**Excerpt:** None.

**A/N:** This one is way back at the begining when Hotch first joined the BAU. I'm sorry if it gets a bit rambley at the end. This one is also much longer than the previous ones. Thanks to _Thn0715 _and _Alex _for their reviews. Reviews and Flames are Very Appreciated. Hope you enjoy.

Part Four:

A Base of Friendship

_"All love that does not have friendship for its base, is like a mansion built upon the sand."_

The BAU, profiling itself, was something that, despite their dislike of each other, Gideon and Rossi had practically invented together. Gideon had immediately started gathering people as his disciples, even while the BAU was a room in the basement at the FBI building in Quantico. Rossi, although he taught, instructed and guided the recruits, hadn't had an actual protégé of his own. He'd never actually felt like he needed or wanted one.

Then he met Aaron Hotchner. The first time he saw Aaron, the young man was standing, a little out of the way, in the hallway that led to the BAU's basement space with one of Gideon's recruits. The recruit, Agent Jonathan Keller, was one that Rossi recognized only because he was bright but quick tempered. Too quick to go after the unsub, too slow to try and talk an unsub down. It had been causing a problem not only with the administrators, but within the BAU itself.

It doesn't take a profiler to figure out that Keller has, once again, let his temper get out of his control. The other man, whom Rossi vaguely recognizes as new, is calm on the surface but his stance shows he's on edge and a feeling little defensive. Keller's stance on the other hand is confrontational and angry and it is right there on the surface.

Rossi stalks forward, getting closer so he can hear what's got Keller all worked up, so worked up he looks like he wants to hit the other guy. It quickly becomes obvious why Keller's so angry, the younger man is not only winning the argument, he's winning an argument on _why an unsub reacted the way he did. _He's winning an argument on profiling, and he's not even taken any of Gideon's classes yet.

Which means the guy is good, has an instinctive ability that Rossi hasn't seen in any of the recruits, hasn't seen since he'd met Gideon. It also means that Keller is about two seconds from hitting the guy in the face because Keller is nothing if not prideful and he'd not lost an argument to anyone of the other recruits let alone a guy who had never even set foot in the BAU.

Rossi walks closer, not even trying for stealth, and though Keller doesn't notice him the other guy does, immediately breaking of his line of argument ("...suffering from delusions, and obviously submissive, _not _likely to display such organized tendencies which means there was obviously a _partner_ who was-") to offer a sharp, "Agent Rossi," in greeting. Rossi nods back, even as Keller turns around to face him, a look of such intense anger on his face Rossi's a little concerned the profilers going to haul off and hit _him._ Keller doesn't though, and also doesn't greet him with much more than a grunted, "Sir."

The annoyed, and slightly affronted, look that passes over the other agent is something that Rossi doesn't miss even as he stares at Keller and states, "Agent Keller. Is something wrong here?"

"No, sir." Keller says sharply, eyes burning with anger, "Me and Agent Hotchner where just... _discussing _something."

Rossi doesn't like where this is heading, there is too much anger there in Keller's voice for this to turn out well. Ever. So he sends Keller to cool down with an easy command of, "There are files that you should be creating profiles for. Get to it."

For a moment he thinks Keller is going to argue, or hit him, or something else immensely stupid, but the man keeps ahold of his temper, if barely, and spins around to stalk past Hotchner without a word of acknowledgement to Rossi. Rossi watches him go before looking at the other agent, now identified to him as Agent Hotchner, once he's satisfied that Keller is at least heading towards the rest of the BAU agents.

Hotchner is making an effort to look as if he's not staring at Rossi, but it's pretty obvious the kid know who he is. And is a little enamored with him.

"Agent Hotchner," he says, stepping a little closer and examining the man in front of him.

"Yes, sir?" The other agent asks.

"You were arguing with Agent Keller about the Paradise Pair, the two brothers who killed six people together in Maine saying they were sending them to paradise." It's a statement, not a question. Rossi knows that Keller gets all worked up about the case, his father had worked it and thought there was only one killer at first. Keller was always trying to convince himself that even profilers would have gotten it wrong.

"Yes, sir." Hotchner responds, face carefully blank, body language unrevealing.

Rossi smiles a bit, and says, "Doing a damn good job winning the argument too, from what I heard."

Hotchner's startled gaze is a little satisfying.

"You're good, kid." Rossi says, an hour later when he's made Hotchner (call me Hotch) sit with him in a coffee shop and profile everyone who comes in or leaves. "You've got a great instinct, and you've obviously studied the materials. Why aren't you in the BAU yet?"

Hotch shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee (just a touch of sugar in it,) before he answers. "I wanted to get someone's attention, not just be a faceless, nameless recruit in a line of many." A wry smile. "Not quite the way I imagined doing it though."

Rossi grins back, "Take the classes, Hotch." He tells the younger agent, "You'll do well, and I'll vouch for you when you try for the BAU."

Hotch looks at him, a little stunned and Rossi looks back. For just a moment he sees beyond the stoic facade and sees just how broken the other man is. Then it's gone, hidden again. "Thank you." Hotch says and it's the most sincere thing Rossi's ever heard.

"It's no problem, Hotch. Like I said, you're good. We need people with your instinct in the BAU."

Hotch just bows his head, and Rossi can see the faint flush across his cheeks, and says it again, "Thank you. Very much."

It's obvious the guy doesn't know how to take the complement, maybe doesn't really even believe it. Rossi just shrugs, and doesn't say any more.

Gideon notices him of course; Rossi would have been shocked if he hadn't. Rossi is shocked by how possessive he feels when Gideon starts waxing on about the agent though, and how good he'll be in the BAU as one of Gideon's lackeys. And okay Gideon doesn't actually use the word "lackeys" but Rossi's not feeling particularly generous at the moment so too frickin' bad.

Rossi tells himself that the whole thing is ridiculous because he's never wanted a protégé before now, not like Gideon who surrounds himself with them. He'll teach sure, instruct, help out, give advice, but he's never wanted his own personal student. _So the whole thing is ridiculous_, he tells himself firmly, _and that is that. _

But it really isn't because Gideon keeps going on about him and Rossi still gets that possessive flare in his stomach, only now it's accompanied with a small flare of jealousy. Not of Hotch, but of Gideon for spending time with Hotch. Which is just fucked up, Rossi decides as he downs a glass of scotch.

Gideon goes on so much about Hotch that anyone, Rossi included, would think that the two of them had already become great friends. It therefore comes as a great surprise, at least to Rossi, that when Gideon finally brings him down to be introduced to the rest of them, Hotch practically makes a dash over to him. Only much more politely because, as Rossi had learned during his test of Hotch's instinct, Hotch is nothing if not unfailingly polite. Due, no doubt to his mother's strict upbringing Rossi knows, although he tamps that part of his mind down. They really aren't supposed to profile each other, especially not deliberately.

But Hotch does make a beeline to Rossi, stopping for numerous introductions along the way. When he finally gets there he holds his hand out, and with a bit of a grin introduces himself.

"Agent Aaron Hotchner, sir. But you can call me Hotch." There is something almost playful there, even though Rossi already knows the younger profiler, already knows the nickname. It is an almost flirting which makes Rossi look at the man a second time and there _is _playfulness there, but it is low key, almost unnoticeable. So instead of reacting Rossi takes the hand that's offered, returning the introduction with his own.

"Agent David Rossi. Dave if you like." Hotch's smile brightens a little and his grip is warm, and there is something a little less broken in his eyes.

"Thank you, Dave." Hotch says, his hand squeezing a little tighter for a moment before he lets go. Hotch hardly leaves Rossi's side for the rest of the day, although he plays it off as just interest in the elder profiler's profiling skill. The streak of triumph Rossi experiences when he catches the put out and slightly confused look on Gideon's face when he realizes that Hotch is actively staying with Rossi is entirely inappropriate. (Although ultimately extremely satisfying.)

It's pretty obvious to everyone that Hotch is _good. _He's got the instinct and he makes the sort of connections that even some of the guys who have been there longer don't make. He rises through the ranks quickly and Rossi is proud because he's the one who found this kid, and he's the one who Hotch spends the most time around. Which isn't to say Hotch doesn't shadow the other profilers because he does. Hotch follows all of them around, silent and learning. Absorbing everything he needs to know.

But the first time Rossi invites Hotch home with him to meet Mrs. Rossi the third he thinks the kid's face is going to fall off he smiles so hard. And Hotch lets Rossi in more so than he lets any of the others. Eventually he makes friends with Gideon and some of the older profilers, but a lot of thee other younger profilers think he's full of himself. He's better than them at their job so they don't like them.

But Hotch doesn't seem to put out by that and when Rossi asks Hotch only answers that he's never been really close to most people his own age.

The point, ultimately, being that Hotch lets Rossi in, although it takes a lot of pushing and a little profiling. Once he's in it doesn't take a lot of digging to figure out that in some ways Hotch is broken. Parts of him are fragmented beyond repair and there's a reason he suddenly stopped being a prosecutor and went the path of becoming a profiler.

There's more, hints behind hints of what his childhood was like, but Rossi doesn't get anything really concrete until a case in Yreka California where the unsub was beating and killing ten year old children. They profile the man as being a father himself, who most likely beat his own son regularly and was probably an alcoholic. It's Hotch who makes the connection before the man kills his own son by looking in to medical records for all the kids in the area.

"It's not going to look suspicious," Hotch had explained to Rossi as they looked in to the medical records, "The father will have explained it away as a bike accident or his son getting in to fights with the other children. No one looks suspicious when they bring they're kid in and scold them for getting in to fights."

There's bitterness deep in Hotch's voice and in that moment Rossi can see this man as a child being dragged in to the E.R. and scolded by his father, the one who hurt him. Can see the bitterness and hopeless anger that would have built up inside that child. Rossi opens his mouth to say something, he's not sure what, when Hotch exclaims: "Ah! Here, Jonathan Tolson, father of two. His oldest son, Timothy, has been to the E.R. at least once a month since he turned eight, two years ago, all for injuries from fights or accidents on his bike and/or roller skates."

Hotch looks up a sort of grin on his face, "Got him." Then they're off, chasing this guy and then talking him down from killing his boy and Rossi doesn't have the chance to comment on what he's learned.

He continues not to have a chance to comment for one reason or another, mostly because Hotch is damn good at changing the subject or distracting him. Then the one time he practically has the guy cornered and all Hotch does is say "Dave" and look absolutely devastated and pleading and Rossi, who has always had a soft spot for the younger agent can't help but give in and back off. Even though he knows he's being manipulated.

Hotch's smile of gratitude is worth the knowledge though and Rossi can't find it in himself to truly feel too put out.

When he finally gets the chance he's give just about anything not to have it because having it cost five children their lives and has left Hotch lying on his bed drunk and lethargic. Which freaks him out for a multitude of reasons, the biggest one being Hotch_ does not drink_. He just doesn't. Rossi's seen him carry a single bottle of beer around a whole night and never finish the whole thing. Has watched him watch other agents down shot after shot, never joining in even while laughing at the rest of them. Hotch doesn't drink and he certainly doesn't get drunk.

"Hotch." Rossi tries to rouse his friend, a friend who had been more than a little affected by not being able to talk down this particular unsub before he brutally murdered all five of his children hostages, two who had been his own children. Hotch barely even acknowledged his existence.

"Come on, Aaron." A light shake, "Talk to me, kid."

When all Aaron does is turn his head away from Rossi, no answer appearing to be forthcoming, Rossi sighs a little.

"I'm not leaving you alone like this Aaron and I think you know this or you wouldn't have come and crashed in my room. You're the one who sought me out, so you got to give me something to work with, okay?"

After a long minute Aaron rolled over, looking up at Dave. "Shouldn' let this 'ffect me s'badly." He said, slurring a little, in deference to how much alcohol he'd consumed. Rossi sat down on the bed, keeping his eyes on Aaron's.

"Nonsense, Aaron, everyone has something that effects them a little worse than usual. You handled it exceptionally well in the field, didn't break down during the investigation or even in front of other people. Hell, I've seen agents who've been at this longer than you have break down in the middle of an investigation. Working this job, getting in to criminal's heads, it's hard. There is nothing wrong with getting a little sloshed once in a while and crying on someone else's shoulder. But you got to promise me, you'll only get drunk if there is someone for you to go to, okay?" He held Aaron's eyes for a long moment before the nod came. They sat in silence for a time before Aaron broke it again.

"I don't like drinking." He told the older agent. Rossi nodded watching his friend's expressions.

"I know, Aaron."

Aaron lifted his hands in front of his face, examining them and all was quiet for a moment. "My father drank."

A bitter laugh. "He was what they call a 'functioning alcoholic.' Drank at night to relive the stress of being a high profile prosecutor. He was good, you know. He put the bad men away for good. Which is why no one ever suspected that he came home to drink away the day and take his frustrations out on his eldest child. Because a man who did so much good couldn't be hitting his kid, no siree. Not Joshua Hotchner, who was so damn good at his job."

A sob broke off Aaron's little tirade and his hands came down to hide his face. Rossi gently strokes his hair, a small reassurance that he is still there, still listening.

"He always took me to the E.R. afterwards if something bad happened. I'd always been in a fight or fallen of my bike or tripped on the curb. And they believed him because he was such a damn good prosecutor that he couldn't have been a bad guy. But he- he-"

"He was." Rossi finished for him, "He was a bad guy and he hurt you very badly. It's okay, Aaron." Soft sobs are all that greet this statement.

For a moment all he does is stroke Aaron's hair, then, very slowly, he kicks if his shoes and slides in to place next to Aaron carefully pulling the younger man in to a hug. Automatically Aaron stiffens in his arms and a muffled, "What are you doing is all the response he gets."

"Hush, kid, I'm not going to hurt you. Just take it easy, you're safe now."

Very slowly, very, very slowly, Aaron seems to accept it, finally relaxing in to the hug. After a long while, just as Rossi has begun to fall asleep Aaron turns in his arms so that the younger man is facing him. Tentatively, as though afraid Rossi is going to yell or hit him, Aaron lays his head on the older man's shoulder. It breaks Rossi's heart to see the man so unsure of himself and his actions.

"Dave?" Aaron asks very quietly as Rossi begins to drift towards dream land.

"Yes, Aaron?" Rossi responds just as quietly.

"Thank you." Rossi's never heard the other man sound so melancholy.

"It was no problem, Aaron. I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Aaron nods against his shoulder, but Rossi can tell that the younger man isn't convinced. The kid has self esteem issues as big as the Nile is long.

"Sleep, Aaron. We'll talk in the morning."

"You'll still be here?" The question is heartbreaking and Rossi curses everyone who's left the kid on his own before.

"Yeah, I'll be here. Now go to sleep."

"'Kay, Dave." It doesn't take long before Aaron is asleep, alcohol and sleep deprivation working in tandem to put him out like a light in only moments. Rossi follows him very quickly and when he wakes it'll be after the best night of sleep he's had in longer than he can remember.

Rossi keeps his word, Aaron doesn't wake up alone. There is none of the embarrassment from Aaron that Rossi expects. Only a small smile and a quiet word of thanks. Neither of them really mentions it again, but there's a shift in the way they interact. It's a subtle undercurrent in all of their interactions.

Aaron never gets drunk without him there. Not once, and Rossi keeps him from doing stupid things, and holds him, and sleeps next to him. Neither of them is really sure what they're doing, but neither of them really wishes to change things. They never go farther, never step outside of their comfort zone, even when one or both of them wake up aroused, or when Aaron's a little too drunk and a little too flirty.

They stay where they are, as each other's comfort, as each other's support. And maybe they're fooling themselves thinking that's all they'll ever be, but for now, for this moment, it's good.

_"Live in this moment because when tomorrow comes and it all comes crashing down around you, this moment will be the only good thing you have left to hold on to."_

_Finis._


	5. Un Regalo Per Le Lingue

**Title: **Moments of Hotch: Un Regalo Per Le Lingue

**Author: **PhirePhox666

**Fandom:** Criminal Minds

**Pairing/Characters:** Hotch/Rossi, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Jennifer Jereau, Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia, O.M.C.(Sergi), other O.C's, mentions of Haley Brooks, and Jack Hotchner.

**Rating: **PG-13

**Warnings: **Slashy goodness! Porn stuff at the end. Fluff. Bullying. Death. Mentions of torture and general violence. Mentions of child abuse. Lots of foreign languages. O.C.'s. Excessive profiling. Some OoC-ness. Slash and porn. Some mentions of Het.

**Summary:** Languages are a way for Aaron to escape as a child. So he just keeps learning them. They get more and more useful the longer he's a profiler.

**Disclaimer:** Me no own _Criminal Minds_, or any of the characters, or any of the languages and their associated countries, or planes, high school, or Dante's _Inferno_.

**Word Count:** 7,113

**Dedication: **For Aslan.

**Prompt: **None.

**Excerpt:** None.

**A/N:** Apologies over how long this took. It turned in to a bit of a monster at just over seven thousand words. Amazing. Don't count on more chapters this length. Also, apologies in advance for the rampant OOCness, and if there are any mistakes in the translations I warn you I have only a passing familiarity with any of the following languages and used google translate. Last, but not least, the words in [brackets] are Russian. Because of the nightmare it would be to try and write phonetical Russian, instead you get it in brackets. Cheers. The title of the chapter translates to 'A gift for languages.' Reviews and Flames are Welcome. Hope you enjoy.

Part Five:

Un Regalo Per Le Lingue

_"We know a little about a lot of things. Just enough to make us dangerous."_

High school is a particular form of torture for Aaron. School is, and has always come; easy to him and by seventh grade he was no longer remotely challenged by the school work, even in the advanced classes. High school is even more boring, just with a side of humiliation and pain served up via the bullies.

The problem is mostly that Aaron is rather more intelligent than most of his classmates and although he chooses not to flaunt that it's more than enough to get him teased. He's not a weakling, has taken enough martial arts courses to have the ability to defend himself if necessary. The ability to defend himself from attacks does not shield him from all the minor forms or humiliation or pain that are common in high school; being pushed into lockers, shoved around, or having his books hit out of his hands. It doesn't shield him from the name calling or the one name that sticks, unfortunate as it is; Crotchner. Not the most inventive, but annoying.

It infuriates Sergi, whose temper has always been more explosive than Aaron's, ever since middle school. Aaron is steady and patient, silent and cold in his anger where Sergi builds hotter and louder and more explosive. Aaron can't afford to be the inferno that Sergi is, can't afford it in a home where holding on to his temper keeps his chances of being smacked around a little lower that day.

Sergi's not like that, he has a hair-trigger temper that he barely has a hold over and the thing most likely to set him off is someone trying to harm those that Sergi decides are his family. Aaron is ever more grateful to be counted one of those even if it makes Sergi get so mad that he's near irrational sometimes. Aaron lives with someone who often hurts him after all, and if Sergi could he'd take Aaron far away and never look back.

The bullies at school have nothing on Aaron's father and honestly the name calling doesn't really matter to him. High school is hell, bullies or no bullies, and he's mostly just waiting until it's done so he can get the hell out of his parents house and off to college where he'll be away from pain and cold silences and the ever more obvious favoring of Sean.

The only thing of any interest is the math classes, which are mildly challenging, and the language classes. Languages are one thing he truly has a passion for. He also has a gift for them, and for a time had considered becoming some sort of linguist when he grew up. It was an option he'd discarded only because he wants to make a difference, but he _had _considered it. He finds it incredibly easy to pick up languages, incredibly easy to get the accent correct.

He never takes Spanish classes, he'd started learning that language practically the same time he'd started learning English. Having a Latino nursemaid certainly helped his mastery of the language; he knows it as well as he knows English now. French is another language he'd started learning early on, although that was more from his mother's insistence that he be able to speak the language. Aaron thinks, privately, that it's because she never learned it and wants to feel as if she's accomplished something by making him learn it. But French is easy in a way because it's similar to Spanish and English, even though romance languages are inherently difficult.

The school doesn't offer Italian, and his mother never hires a tutor for it either, but Aaron starts learning Italian when he's eleven and he runs across an ancient copy of Dante's _Inferno _in the original Italian, the margins of the pages filled with cramped notes which Aaron takes to be someone's notes and/or thoughts on the book. He finds the copy in an old used book store where the clerk has worked there since he was a boy like Aaron and the dust is piled so high you could measure it with a ruler. It's where Aaron takes refuge and the man sometimes complains to him about kids not reading as much now days and gives him discounts when Aaron doesn't have enough for the books he wants.

Aaron's not sure what attracts him to the book, what about it fascinates him so much, he's heard of the story and never found much interest in it. Yet this beaten up copy, well worn and written in, calls to him. So he buys it and a couple of books on the Italian language and sets in to learning that language too.

Sergi is the one who introduces him to Russian; or rather Aaron introduces himself to Sergi only moments after he hears the older boy cuss out one of their classmates in Russian. It's that rather loud demonstration that sends Aaron to introduce himself and ask the other boy to teach him. Sergi is understandably confused.

"Why do you want to learn Russian?" He asks, his English still heavily accented. Aaron shrugs, he has no answer for that, only knows that he loves all languages and isn't about to give up learning one right from the source.

"Just want to know it." He tells the other boy, already a boy of few words. "Know others, but Russian sounds fun too."

Sergi really doesn't look sure how to respond to that, but agrees to teach him with a simple, "Very well," before they arrange times for them to meet up after school. Sergi is quickly impressed by the dedication Aaron shows to learning, and even more impressed by how quickly he picks the language up. It'll take years before he's able to speak like someone at his age should be able to, but within weeks he's mastered the ability to hold simple conversations.

His fifth language he learns in high school, taking the offered course in German three out of his four years, before continuing learning at the college level, taking a course from the community college one county over once he's leapt beyond the level his teacher can teach to in high school. German is harder than any of the other languages he's learned because it's harsh and guttural. The type of language you really should start learning when you are a kid to be able to speak it with any sort of skill. Aaron, predictably, throws himself in to his studies of the language as he throws himself in to any of his projects. It's not a language easily mastered, but over time he does it, if only by sheer determination. (Although he'll never tell a living soul, translating large parts of memorized text from books is what gets him through the worst beating in high school.)

Arabic and Latin he studies in College. He never truly masters Latin, the dead language, although he finds it fascinating. He knows enough to carry on a short and basic conversation, and it gives him a better grasp on the roots of both Spanish and French, but it's not a language he could give a speech in, if he ever found someone who could or _would _listen to him. Arabic on the other hand he picks up almost as quickly as he did Russian.

There are more. He never stops studying them, never stops learning a new language. As soon as he has one mastered he moves on to another, taking community college courses or online courses or just learning out of a book. He finds a way to learn because he loves languages, they're his escape from the horrors of reality, during high school, after Sergi's death, or after Haley leaves him and there is nothing to come home to but an empty apartment and a bottle of scotch.

His knowledge of languages isn't exactly a secret, it's just something he's never bothered to tell anyone, not even his team. Haley knew, as did Sergi, but there's never been a need to tell anyone else, never been a need for his talents in the field. There had been the time that they'd gone down to Mexico, when he'd thought that it might be needed. Then Elle had revealed her own ability to speak the native language and he'd not bothered to encroach on her ability. Elle had been strong but she was defensive of her talents, trying hard to impress upon them that she could make it in the almost all male team.

It starts coming out slowly though, not long after Rossi comes back, in a strange rush of circumstances that all seem to require him to speak another language.

It starts with a coincidence, the team is having dinner together, a lighthearted affair in a fairly nice restraint Rossi had suggested. It's pleasant and easy and warm and when Garcia makes an offhand comment about them being a family no one thinks to contradict her.

They're trading stories, sometimes personal, sometimes funny, and Rossi is currently engaged in a story about the first time he'd met Gideon. It's hilarious to hear about the ways the two men clashed in opinions and methods. He's mid-sentence when a cheerful, heavily-accented voice breaks in with a questioning, "Alesha?"

Hotch twitches, surprise flashing across his usually taciturn face. He turns, as do the rest of the team, to find a man in his late thirties, blond with serious gray eyes. The man is smiling and a happy, if confused, smile has situated itself on Hotch's face. The rest of them are trading confused looks, and mouthing '_Alesha?'_ at each other.

"Alesha! It is you. I thought I was mistaken for a moment." The other man says. The team watches as Hotch slowly rises, something like worry and guilt passing through his eyes.

"Dimitri, I... I hadn't realized you were in the country." He says, body language screaming that he wants to move forward, to touch, to reassure himself this man is really there, but he's holding back. Beside Garcia, Rossi stiffens slightly, his own stance shifting into protectiveness.

There is a pause, and then Dimitri steps forward pulling Hotch in to an embrace. "Oh, Alesha." He sighs just loud enough for their table to hear him. Hotch relaxes in to the embrace for a couple moments before pulling back. Some of the tension has leached from his frame.

Dimitri stares at him for a moment, tilting his head in a birdlike manner before speaking again, this time in Russian, ["Have you forgotten how to speak the mother tongue, little cousin."]

Hotch looks to his teammates, his family, for a brief second before he responds in kind, ["Of course not. You know I would never forget."]

There are varying levels of shocked reactions from his friends, and Rossi is strung tight with tension, but Hotch mostly ignores them.

["I heard you quit being a prosecutor. Became a FBI agent."]

The tension returns a bit to Hotch's shoulders, almost imperceptible, but easily spotted by the team of profilers sitting not two feet away.

["Yeah, I did."]

["It was your dream, Alesha."]

["And I accomplished it. Then I figured out that doing this, being a profiler, it is something I'm even better at."] Hotch makes a motion at his team, ["This is something I'm good at, and these people are my friends."]

["Are you sure about this? You are in so much danger, and I am sure that Sergi-"]

["Sergi is _dead__.__"_] Hotch's voice is flat enough to make everyone wince, and Garcia feels a faint worry that Rossi is going snap like a too bow pulled to the breaking point, the tension has him wound so tight.

["I _know _that, Alesha. Perhaps even better than you."] The response is terse.

["I was devastated by his death, Dimitri!"] Hotch's voice is getting lower and angrier in a way that all of them recognize from when he's particularly frustrated, hurt and angry.

["And you ran away from everything you shared! Have you ever visited his grave, Aleski?"] The way Hotch blanches and his face drains of color, has everyone of his family getting ready to stand up, stand between them, hurt this man who is hurting their friend. Rossi's eyes blaze with anger at the obvious distress his friend is in. Hotch comes to his own defense though, his voice low and angry and full of grief.

["You have no idea what I went through. Do not judge me, Dimitri Bolshevik. You barely even stayed long enough to sort out his stuff before you were fleeing the country!"] Hotch's voice is rough with anger and more than a little pain. And Rossi makes a little abortive sound in his throat that tells them that he's reached the end of his control. Suddenly he's stepping forward, subtly putting himself between Hotch and Dimitri, although not blocking Hotch's line of sight. It's like a sign for the rest of them and they almost swarm to stand around Hotch, to support him.

Morgan stands solidly at Hotch's side, expression cold and serious. Beside him Garcia stands in all her eclectic glory, expression more threatening then Hotch has ever seen it before. Prentiss has stepped up almost beside Rossi arms crossed and body language clearly expressing her displeasure. Reid stands behind Rossi and Prentiss, directly next to Hotch, his anger clear in his stance, on his face, in his eyes, and J.J. stands behind them all, guarding their backs. Something warm blooms deep in Hotch's gut. Dimitri takes a telling half-step back looking a little overwhelmed at the sudden confrontation.

"Aleski-" He starts to say before Rossi interrupts him.

"You need to leave." Rossi tells him, ignoring the pressure of Hotch's hand on his arm. "If you keep going with this conversation it is not going to end well. So just leave." It would almost seem like friendly advice except for the flat tone and angry eyes trained on Dimitri's face.

"It's not really your business." Dimitri says coolly, drawing himself up defensively. "This is between me and Ale- Aaron."

"It is all of our business because it is obvious that you are hurting Aaron, and you really don't seem to care whether you are or not." Rossi says, eyes flashing with anger, and the whole team seems to move closer together, disgruntled and angry sounds coming from more that one of them. Hotch makes a quiet noise of protest, but doesn't shift away from the sudden possessive hold that Garcia has taken of his arm, or the way Reid presses just a little against his other side, or J.J.'s hand on his shoulder.

"Aaron, tell your... _friends_ that this is between us." More than anything the way that Dimitri twists the word 'friends' makes Hotch angry, and more than a little sad. For a moment he stays silent before he states.

"Dimitri. I am sorry, I understand, better than you think, why you are angry with me. But that anger won't change the fact that Sergi is gone, and _you left me here alone_. You lost the right to speak of my life choices when you decided that you couldn't face me as a reminder of your grief. Please leave us. Maybe one day we can speak again." There's sorrow in his eyes, but his face is blank. For a moment they think that Dimitri won't agree. Then with a short nod he backs off, sorrow in his eyes.

"I will call you next time I'm in the country, Aaron. Goodbye." Turning swiftly on his heel, he leaves.

They all just stand there, a little surprised by the abrupt exit, then together they move back to their table and sit down again. There's a moment when their all just quiet and then Hotch sighs deeply and drags a hand across his face. His mind is whirling and his emotions are all over the place. "I'm sorry about that." He says quietly, but the statement jolts his team in to action.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, Aaron." Rossi says, surprisingly gentle, and the team around them makes noises of agreement. Hotch sighs from deep in his belly, and slumps forward, burying his face in his hands. Rossi's hand is steady on his shoulder, and on the other side Reid presses shoulder to shoulder against him, subtle but undeniably there, and Rossi starts retelling the story that Dimitri's arrival had interrupted like he'd never paused.

The normality, the warmth, the lack of invading questions lets Hotch gather himself back together and eventually put in a wry remark or two. They'd carpooled to the restaurant, J.J., Reid, and Prentiss in one car, Morgan and Garcia in a second, and Rossi and Hotch in the third. Hotch is a little wary of the ride home because Rossi knows him well enough to know that what Dimitri said is still lurking there in the back of his mind, just waiting to spring on him when he goes home to his empty apartment.

They stand outside the restaurant together, just laughing and enjoying the unseasonably warm night for a long time before they finally split in to their carpool groups. Garcia and Morgan leave first, Garcia giving Hotch a warm hug that lasts longer than he'd normally allow, and Morgan giving a short clap on the shoulder and a quirk of a smile. After them J.J., Prentiss, and Reid leave. J.J. also hugs him and although it's briefer, it's no less warm. Prentiss hesitates before giving her own brief hug, drawing away almost as soon as she initiated it. Hotch has the absent thought that he's had more hugs in one night then he's had all month.

Reid, still standing next to Hotch, waves both the girls on with an easy smile waiting until they're both out of sight. Reid doesn't hug Hotch, but he does lean against the older man's side, pressing shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. The two of them lean against each other for a moment before Reid smiles and walks to the waiting car without a word. Rossi watches the whole exchange curiously, but doesn't comment, then leads his friend to where his car is parked.

Hotch lets him drive, although it makes him a little fidgety, and the drive is mostly silent. Rossi is, predictably, the one who starts the conversation.

"I didn't know you spoke Russian." Hotch flinches a little and stiffens, tension flooding his frame. Rossi hurries on with the conversation, casually asking, "You learn when you were younger?"

For a moment it looks as if Hotch won't answer, then the tension seems to bleed out of him as fast as it had came and he answers with a sort of wary reluctance. "Dimitri's brother, Sergi, taught me. We were in school together, he was my best friend for year, and he started teaching me in middle school. It's been years since I've needed to say more than a few sentences to someone." he sighs again.

Rossi pushes just a little bit farther, he's known Hotch for long enough to know the man is feeling guilty, and he's one of the only people Hotch will open up to. So he pushes.

"What did Dimitri say, Aaron? It looked like it was getting a bit heated there?" Aaron makes a half laughing sort of huff.

"He was accusing me of insulting Sergi's memory by being a profiler, or something like that anyway." There's a pause where Aaron lets his head drop against the head rest before he speaks again. "He doesn't understand, Dave. He didn't even ask _why_ I'd done it, not that he was there to make any comments at the time. But then, I was never real close to Dimitri anyway. He's too much like me in all the wrong ways."

That makes Dave laugh and after a moment Aaron laughs with him. The rest of the drive is comfortable and relaxed as they talk of idle things.

The next time his penchant for languages is part way revealed is on a case in Metairie, Louisiana. The suburb is located in the south shore of Lake Pontcharthrain and is home to a serial killer who tortures and kills teenage boys. The unsub isn't hard to identify, the only problem is that he disappears before they can get to him. The wife refuses to speak them and the kid, five years old, only speaks French and very broken English.

"Je veux ma maman." The boy tells them unhappily, sitting at the table where the team has set up. {I want my mom.}

Prentiss and Reid trade helpless looks then look to where Morgan and Rossi sit. None of the four of them speak French and Rossi looks like he's about to start tearing at his hair. The boy repeats his plaintive phrase, looking close to tears. Hotch and J.J. enter just as the boy starts to repeat the sentence for a third time and Hotch looks to Rossi in question.

"He only speaks French," The older profiler explains, shrugging slightly, "and none of us speak French."

For a moment Hotch's face is impassive, then he sighs softly and turns to where the boy sits and takes a seat beside him. "Mon nom est Aaron." He says, the words rolling of his tongue with ease, "Quel est votre nome?" {My name is Aaron. What is your name?}

Each of them has differing reactions, each of startled surprise, but Hotch ignores them, focusing on the boy in front of him.

"Mon nom est Beau." Beau tells him, "Je veux ma maman." {My name is Beau. I want my mom.}

Aaron smiles gently, "Je suis désolé Beau. Vous pouvez voir votre mére dans un petit moment. J'ai besoin de vous pour répondre a quelques questions pour moi tout d'abord."

{I am sorry Beau. You can see your mom in a little while. I need you to answer some questions for me first.}

For a moment Beau looks at him, concentration written all over his five year old face. "Ensuite, nous voyons ma mére." He states. {Then we see my mom.}

Hotch nods solemnly and agrees, "Ensuite, nous voyons votre maman." {Then we see your mom.}

The questions go quickly and only a little later Hotch announces a place that the unsub had taken Beau that sounds like a good place to which one could flee. Then they are off on their chase and the surprise and questions get lost in the adrenaline that comes with apprehending a criminal.

It isn't until the plane ride home, hours later, that any of them think of it again. It is Morgan who brings it up. "It was a good thing you knew French, man. That kid looked like he was getting ready to throw a fit."

Hotch shrugs a little, "My mother thought it appropriate for me to learn French when I was younger."

The revelation is surprising in several ways, not just because of the information but because Hotch hardly ever actually mentions his blood family, let alone to reveal a fact from his childhood. It's a monumental display of trust, especially for a man as reserved as Hotch is, and not a person on his team, profiler or not, can miss it.

They don't mention it again, and the rest of the flight home is spent mostly in comfortable silence, broken by the occasional low, easy conversation.

The third time is something of an accident and less a conscious decision to reveal his ability.

He's been sorting through his storage, finding things he'd half forgotten about and hadn't really realized he still had. He'd found that paper he'd written for his Media and Culture professor. Buried under that, under a shoebox full of similar essays and another full of pictures he only half remembered taking, under old t-shirts and half dozen filled notebooks there is the original copy of Dante's _Inferno _that he'd bought at his eleven years of age.

It smells old and dusty, familiar in a way that makes his chest ache. He'd spent years pouring over this book in his free time, first just translating the text, then translating the notes, and finally just reading it through without the help of notes or a dictionary, enjoying it for what it was and reading the sometimes insightful, sometimes witty, notes scribbled in the margins. Somewhere in the notebooks that he's already taken out there are his translations, but he hasn't needed them for years.

His own notes are scrawled in the margins, also in Italian, questions and thoughts and ideas. The book had spent fifteen years as his near constant companion and many different editions of his own notes and thoughts had made their ways on to the pages. He finds himself tracing the words fondly, reading and re-reading already familiar passages. He makes himself put the book aside, but when he's packed everything else back away; Dante's _Inferno_ stays out with him and is quietly tucked in to his go-bag.

Which is how it ends up on the plane, on a four hour ride across the country. Hotch has already gone over the case file with his team, and then again himself and he has at least half the flight left. He finds himself drawing out The _Inferno _and opening it up to read. Even while reading he's aware of the people around him so it's not a surprise when Rossi speaks from behind him, although the words are.

"I wasn't aware that Italian literature was an interest of yours, Aaron." Rossi says in his usual, dry voice, just loud enough to attract the attention of the others on the plane, all of whom are still sitting very near. It doesn't stop Rossi from asking, curiosity in his voice, "Where'd you find a version of Dante's _Inferno_ in the original Italian, here?"

Hotch offers him a faint glare as his team makes questioning noises and Morgan even asks, "Yo're reading The _Inferno_ in Italian?"

Hotch sighs a little, rolling his eyes at Rossi before nodding.

After a moment the clamor that's broken out settles, and then Reid asks, "How many languages _do _you know, Hotch?"

Hotch sighs again, "Around fifteen that I can speak fluently. More that I can get by on. And three dead languages."

There's a stunned silence before Prentiss whistles, impressed. "Wow, Hotch, I didn't know you had the gift."

When the rest of the team look at her curiously, she explains, "I moved around a lot when I was a kid and I met a lot of kids like me who visited more countries their first fifteen years than most people can claim to visit in their whole lives. Some of them had what the rest of us called the gift for languages. All it really meant was that after a month or so in a new place they pretty much could speak the language well enough to get on with their lives, and none of them ever forgot a language later on. I would have loved to be able to do it, but it was never a skill of mine."

Hotch shrugs when the rest of them look at him. "I started learning to speak other languages when I was very young. It's always come easily for me."

"For some reason I have never been able to master a second language," Reid tells them.

"I'd think with your memory it's be even easier than for normal people," Morgan says. Reid just shakes his head.

"While I do remember everything I read I've found I have difficulties associating foreign words with their English counterparts. Did you know that only about nine percent of people in America actually speak two languages fluently? Whereas in countries like Switzerland children are required to be able to speak German, French and English before they leave school and Japan has middle school children learning English as a secondary language."

"Okay, man. We get the picture." Morgan says a little exasperatedly and Reid subsides with a bit of a chastised look.

"Sorry." Hotch finds he's smiling fondly at his team, warmth tingling in his chest and deep in his stomach when he looks at them.

Further discussion on Hotch's talent for languages is suspended once their journey ends and no one gets the chance to even think on it as they take up the case that turns very bloody, very quickly with the unsub rapidly deteriorating in to an all out slaughter. It's messy, it's horrifying, and even when they finally get the guy he manages to take out one cop and injure another. They go home tired, every one of them affected by the case.

When they finally get back to BAU headquarters Aaron sends them all home, lets them put off their paperwork for the night. He gets tired smiles of thanks from everyone of them and Morgan heads towards Garcia's office, obviously letting her know about the small amount of extra time off. Aaron watches them leave, standing at the door of his office, with a small smile, there's camaraderie in their good-byes even as tired and sad as each of them are.

Aaron doesn't leave with them, instead goes in to his office to start on the paperwork that he still has to finish. He's only just started when Dave comes in. For a moment both of them are silent, Dave just standing there, watching, Aaron working steadily on his paperwork. It's maybe five minutes, probably less, before Dave speaks, breaking the near silence.

"Come on, Aaron, you're as tired as the rest of us. Time to go home." For a moment Aaron considers ignoring him, continuing working, he's not sure how persistent Dave will be. But really what he wants is to go home with Dave, take a warm shower to wash the dirt of the day off, eat something warm, and fall in to bed with Dave. He's too tired to even really want to have sex with Dave, just basic comfort through touch. And Dave is offering this, right now, offering to go home together, and Dave hasn't been over in too long due to cases and awkward timing.

Finally Aaron starts saving things and shutting his computer down, rearranging stacks of paperwork. When he finally looks up as he stands Dave is staring at him with a fond expression. Aaron looks down quickly, not quite used to the open affection that Dave treats him with. He puts on his coat, and lets Dave lead him out, only pausing a moment to turn off the light.

Aaron had caught a ride with Dave days ago, before the case had first started, which he does fairly regularly now. It makes nights like this easier and it's cheaper not to have a car in the long run. He had been taking the subway, but when Dave had found out he'd immediately insisted on giving Aaron rides. It works out fine most of the time, since Dave likes to spend as often as he can with Aaron and even with Jack.

Dave drives them to Aaron's house, and walks with him up to his apartment. Aaron's too tired to hold a coherent conversation during the drive but it's okay because Dave seems content to drive in silence. Once inside Dave sits him down on the couch and Aaron loses track of what happens next; he's already dosing. What's probably only a few minutes later Dave returns and Aaron's a little baffled by the fact that he's still carrying Aaron's go bag. Dave chuckles at him when he asks.

"You're coming to my place, Aaron. I just wanted to get clean clothes for you, and fresh clothes for your go bag." Dave helps him up as he's informing Aaron and pretty soon they're making their way back to Dave's car. Aaron is leaning very heavily on Dave by now. He loses more time on the drive to Dave's house, but decides he's okay with that because Dave will keep him safe.

He's not sure why that thought is so comforting, he's never needed anyone to keep him safe before.

Dave guides him in to his house, which is huge and fancy and completely David Rossi, and as such warm, welcoming and familiar. Aaron's been here before of course, but right now feels special. The go bags are dropped off is the master bed room, while they make their way to the master bathroom.

Dave sits him on the toilet and the next thing he knows Dave has him standing up and completely naked. It's mildly disconcerting, but Aaron's really too tired to care. Dave's also naked, which would usually be nice and very interesting, but now just makes him feel warm and safe. Dave manhandles him into the shower and the water is just the right temperature of scalding hot to make Aaron groan in pleasure.

When he melts against the other profiler it gets him a laugh huffed against his skin. They stand together for a while just holding each other and it feels good. It takes a moment for Aaron to register that Dave is speaking to him.

"-silly man. You haven't been sleeping, have you, Aaron?" There's a pause and it takes him longer than it should to figure out that Dave actually wants an answer.

When he comes to that conclusion he says. "No." It's a very soft answer.

Dave sighs and starts to soap up his back. This causes a little shiver to make it's way down Aaron's back and does interesting things to his body in general.

"You need to take care of yourself, Aaron." Dave reprimands him softly, "We worry for you and none of us want you to collapse from exhaustion. Especially not me."

This is something Aaron can understand. He's had times where he's worried that one of his agents was overworking themselves. He tends to forget it's something he's prone to do himself.

"Do you understand?" Dave asks, still gently stroking his back. Aaron just barely forms his words of agreement. Dave draws back a little and smiles at him before drawing him into a gentle kiss. They haven't been able to kiss in ages, and Aaron practically melts in to a puddle of profiler goo at the simple pleasure of kissing the man he's in love with. Neither of them are terribly demonstrative, and even if they were they couldn't afford to be at work, but Aaron's been touch-starved most of his life and simple gestures of affection are the ones that hit him the hardest.

They stand under the spray of the shower just kissing for a long time, long enough for the water to start to turn tepid. Dave maneuvers him so that he can turn the heat up again, kisses him once more, then goes back to gently washing Aaron clean. Dave is gentle in a way that no one has been for years, washing every part of him thoroughly, but without any eroticism to it. He even goes down on his knees to gently soap up Aaron's calves and thighs, but the normally erotic gesture is negated by the gentle care he's showing and all it does is make Aaron feel emotional.

Aaron just leans against him as Dave washes himself, occasionally trying to help, but too exhausted to do much more than get in the way. It makes Dave laugh though, so the attempt isn't a total loss. After they've both been thoroughly scrubbed clean, no help from Aaron there, Dave carefully manhandles Aaron back out of the shower and dries them both off with the big fluffy towels that Aaron has always favored, but never really had since Haley disliked them. _Should get some now. _He thinks, and maybe it's a slightly uncharitable thought, but he's too tired to feel even the slightest bit guilty.

Aaron's not sure when Dave collected clothes for them to put on, but he soon finds himself wearing a pair of warm sweatpants and a his favorite T-shirt, one Dave had given to him years ago when Aaron was still a rookie agent. Dave is wearing his own pair of sweatpants and a soft T-shirt that looks nearly as old as the one Aaron is wearing.

He lets himself be led out to the kitchen, leaning in to the body next to him, and taking comfort in the warm arm wrapped around him. The chair isn't quite as nice, but Aaron's tired enough that sitting is a good idea. For minutes, or hours, or days, or forever, he just sits there and listens to Dave cook and hum softly to himself. The aromas coming from the direction of Dave's humming are enough to awaken his previously sleeping stomach and it growls, loudly. Aaron only opens his eyes when there's the distinctive _chink_ of a plate being set in front of him.

Dave's made omelet, just the way he like them; lots of cheese, a bit of ham, onions and tomato, but none of the mushrooms that Dave likes in his own omelets. There's an even cheese melted on top and Aaron's mouth waters just at the sight of it. He grins up at Dave, feeling a little more awake now, and offers an enthusiastic, "Thanks!"

Dave chuckles, "I know other ways you could thank me." He says, his voice a little rough. Aaron blushes, but smiles and Dave chuckles again, dropping a quick kiss on his lips before turning to get his own dinner. They both eat quickly, both of them are starving and the food _is _delicious. Dave piles the dishes in the sink to do the next day and then herds Aaron out the door.

Aaron's laughing a little by the time they make it to the master bedroom since Dave keeps running his hands up Aaron's sides, hitting all of the ticklish or sensitive spots there. Dave kisses Aaron briefly before stripping the younger man of his clothes quickly and then undressing himself.

"In a hurry are we?" Aaron asks, laughing a little, and Dave responds by tripping him back on to the bed. The bed is a California King, with soft sheets, fluffy blankets and more pillows than Aaron has ever seen on a bed in his life. It's decadent and expensive and Aaron loves it. Dave arranges himself on top of Aaron, pinning him to the bed in a hold that Aaron could break, but won't. They kiss for a long time, lost in each other and each just taking pleasure from the presence of the other.

It's a time later when Dave finally draws a little away, kissing down Aaron's neck and chest before sucking briefly on one nipple, then the other. Aaron squirms beneath him, flushed and already hard from their kissing and the weight of Dave above him. Dave kisses a line back up to Aaron's neck, licking and nipping at the junction between neck and shoulder, and sucking lightly enough not to leave marks where they could be seen.

Without breaking the kiss he urges Aaron up the bed so they're arranged in the middle. Aaron squirms beneath him as Dave ghost his fingers along the sensitive ridges of Aaron's ribs, and down his sides. He's making little groaning noises by the time Dave finally reaches into the nightstand to pull out a bottle of lube.

It's cold at first, but Dave is kissing him on the mouth again and Aaron hardly notices the first finger entering him. Not until it brushes against his prostrate in an almost feather-light touch. That makes Aaron jerk is surprised pleasure and moan into the smile that curves Dave's mouth.

"Smug bastard," He gasps against Dave's lips, and then moans when Dave presses another light brush against his prostrate. Dave teases him forever with one finger, never hard enough to get him to come, but always keeping him close to the edge. When the second finger enters him he's too sucking little marks in to Dave's chest to notice. The third finger follows a lot quicker, and burns just a little more, but Aaron's never been afraid of a little pain and he's well aware that the pleasure will quickly override the small pain.

"Are you ready?" Dave asks him, lips barely an inch away, and Aaron mumbles 'yes' before lunging up to kiss him again. Dave settles between his legs, quickly slicking his cock up. For a moment he pause and gives Aaron a long, slow, sweet kiss and Aaron almost comes right there just from the sweetness of it. Then he slides in to Aaron with one smooth motion, and pauses there letting his lover adjust to the significant size change.

"Move!" Aaron demands and Dave does, setting a slow pace that drives Aaron mad with need. It's just as gentle as the earlier shower, although considerably more erotic, and Aaron can feel the emotion welling up inside of him. Dave is thrusting inside him, sweet and hard and taking care of him and it's more than enough to cause Aaron to cry out.

"Dave!" His voice is rough and needy and he's making little whimpering groans in between words. "Dave, Dave, Dave!" It's become a chant. Dave is sucking on his shoulder where a mark would be covered by a shirt and thrusting a little harder as Aaron makes desperate needy sounds and chants his name. Dave's hands are resolutely not touching Aaron's cock, one resting next to Aaron's head and supporting Dave's body while the other grips Aaron's hip.

Aaron gets louder even as he starts thrusting his hips up to meet Dave. His hands are gripping Dave's back helplessly, scoring light marks across his shoulder blades. "Dave!" He begs, "Dave, Dave, _please._"

Dave takes his mouth of Aaron's shoulder to ask, voice rough and wrecked, "What do you need, Aaron?"

"Come. _Please _come inside me." Dave kisses him, speeding up his thrusts and then comes, buried deep inside Aaron. For a moment they both lay there panting and then Dave kisses him again, this kiss another slow and sweet one. He breaks from it, massaging slow circles in to Aaron's hip and leans to whisper in to Aaron's ear.

"Come, _now, _my lover." And Aaron comes, without a hand laid on his cock.

They lay together until Aaron has to insist Dave get off, "Heavy, Dave." Which just amuses Dave, who roles off then pads in to the bathroom to get a washcloth, returning to wash Aaron's come of his belly. After that task is done, Dave gently maneuvers a once again sleepy Aaron under the covers and then gets under them himself. Aaron immediately pushes back against him, back to his chest, legs tangling together intimately.

Dave wraps both arms around his lover, and tangles the fingers of their left hands together. Gently he brings Aaron's wrist up, so he can press a kiss to the soft skin of the inside of his wrist. He returns their arms to their original position.

"I love you." Dave whispers, kissing Aaron's neck.

"I love you, too." Aaron whispers back.

They sleep calmly.

_"We're all a little weird, and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness in compatible with outs, we join up and fall in mutual weirdness, and call it love."_

_Finis._


End file.
